


Nothing left to do

by LadySmutterella



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 00:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10231136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/pseuds/LadySmutterella
Summary: Look, it’s not like Franktriesto injure himself, okay? He goes out on stage, he does his thing, and… well. Sometimes accidents just seem to happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Trojie for the love and beta reading. Title from Demolition Lovers. Fill for the bed sharing square on my bingo card.
> 
> ION this is less than two thousand words. I mean, okay, I was *aiming* for 500, but I can still write short stories? See?

Look, it’s not like Frank _tries_ to injure himself, okay? He goes out on stage, he does his thing, and… well. Sometimes accidents just seem to happen.

“What did you do?” Ray asks when they hug at the end of the show, and Frank can’t help himself. He sags into the safety of Ray’s arms, finally acknowledging just how sore his ankle, hip, and shoulder are.

He’s not about to admit that to Ray though.

“Nothing,” he says into the sweaty space between his mouth and Ray’s chest, and Ray’s hands tighten in his hair even as he sighs disbelievingly. 

“Everything okay?” Gerard mutters on his way past, but Ray doesn’t let Frank look up.

“He’s hurt,” Ray says, and there’s a weighted silence of the sort that suggests they’re having one of those silent face conversations. 

Normally Frank would be all over that, but right now he can’t be bothered. Ray’s comfortable and Frank’s sore and that’s probably how Ray gets him off stage, out of the venue, and onto the bus before he has a chance to argue. 

“Wha’…” he manages when Ray pours him into a seat. He has a sneaking suspicion that Ray may have carried him part of the way. He doesn’t care.

“Hotel?” Gerard asks, and Ray makes a humming noise that Frank hopes constitutes agreement. 

Thank fuck tonight is a hotel night, and thank fuck they’re big enough that they all get their own rooms. That’s all Frank cares about right now. 

It helps that Ray doesn’t let him go. He rubs his fingers in slow circles over Frank’s scalp, and if Frank wasn’t honestly about to vomit from the pain, he’d be purring. He’s nearly purring anyway, and he does actually make a small mew of relief when they get to the hotel. Or when the bus stops at least, and Ray helps him up and leads him off. 

Frank follows his lead, like a thousand nights on stage, and doesn’t really take in his surroundings until they stop in some generic corridor in the sort of hotel they can afford these days.

“Can you get the door?” Ray asks and it takes Frank a few bleary minutes before he realises that he’s asking Gerard. 

Ray holds him carefully as Gerard leans around and slots the keycard into the door. He pushes it open and steps back, overly theatrical and bowing them inside. 

Ray snorts and when Frank just lolls heavily against him instead of moving, he sweeps him into his arms and carries him into the room.

“Kinky,” Frank manages, trying his best to hide the fact that he _is_ actually impressed. “You been watching The Bodyguard again?”

Ray doesn’t bother dignifying that with a response. He carries Frank over to the bed and gently deposits him in the middle of it. 

It’s jarring, despite the care he takes, and Frank closes his eyes and breathes through the pain, like he has through dozens of tattoos and hundreds of stomach aches. 

“We need to check him out,” Gerard says, sounding worried, and Frank flaps his hand vaguely. 

“‘M fine,” he grunts. “Don’t worry.”

“Really?” Ray asks. “You want us to just leave you here?”

“You could pass me some painkillers?” Frank asks hopefully and is entirely unsurprised when Ray climbs onto the bed with him instead. 

Getting undressed is a painful process, and it doesn’t help when Ray and Gerard make identical hissing noises when they look at his naked form. 

“Laugh it up,” he says. “I’m hot and you know it.”

“Yeah,” Ray says slowly. “You think anything’s broken?”

“I don’t think so?” Gerard says, which is less comforting than he could have been. “And it doesn't look like anything is dislocated?”

“But the bruising…” Ray says.

“I’ve seen him with worse.”

Ray makes an unhappy noise. “What do we do now?”

“Well…”

“And don’t say _leave him_ ,” Ray says in a slightly tetchy tone. “I think we should bring him to the ER.”

Frank opens his eyes enough to see that Ray has his Serious Business Scowl(TM) on, and he sighs. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just banged up and tired. Just let me sleep?”

“Not a chance,” Ray says. “You could have concussion, or broken ribs, or…”

“Ugh.” Frank tries to roll over and thinks better of it. “If you’re so worried then sleep here or something, but let _me_ sleep.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Gerard says thoughtfully, and that’s how Frank really only has himself to blame when Ray and Gerard shuck their clothes and climb onto the bed, either side of him. 

“Which way do you want him to face?” Gerard asks, and Ray hums thoughtfully. 

“Towards me,” he says. “The worst of the bruising is on your side.”

They manoeuvre him like he weighs nothing, ignoring his grumbles, until he’s lying on his left, his right leg propped up over Ray’s body, pinned in place by Gerard who seems to think he’s some sort of octopus or something from the way he’s clinging. 

“Go to sleep,” Gerard whispers to him, and Ray makes an approving noise and resumes that horribly calming scalp massage. Frank would complain, but he’s too busy passing out. 

—

They don’t let him move all night, and every time he wakes up enough to try, they tighten their hold and he’s asleep again before he can work out how to wriggle free.   
   
This does nothing to help with the humiliating moment about 6am when he wakes up with his head on Ray’s chest, Gerard plastered to his back, and the worst case of morning wood he’s had in years.   
   
For a second he thinks he might have gotten away with it, but then he realises that Ray is slowly tracing the tattoos on the top of his arm and is probably not asleep either.  
   
“Morning,” Frank grunts. He pauses to give it plausibility. “I’m feeling much better now.”  
   
“Like hell you are,” Gerard says, sleep-rough and warm from behind him. “You whimpered every time you moved in the night.”  
   
“Ugh.” Frank’s torn between relaxing back into the space between them and fighting to get some room so he can deal with his more immediate problem. “I’m just a bit bruised and stiff, ‘s’all.”  
   
Ray sniggers. “Yeah, you are.”  
   
“Oh, fuck off,” Frank snaps. “Like you’ve never woken up hard.”  
   
Gerard hums and rolls his hips and… oh. So Frank’s not the only one with that little problem then.  
   
“Shouldn’t let him move,” Gerard says to Ray over Frank’s head. “You know what he’s like; he’ll end up injuring himself worse.”  
   
Ray makes a noncommittal noise. “He’s not gonna be any easier to deal with if he’s frustrated though.”  
   
“True,” Gerard says, sounding thoughtful. He leans in so that his lips brush Frank’s ear as he talks. “What do you think we should do, Frankie?”

“Dunno,” Frank manages. “I… Gee!” He breaks off as Gerard licks his hand, noisy and obvious, and wraps it around Frank’s cock. “Shit.” 

Frank tries to buck into the grip, but Gerard and Ray tighten their hold on him in unison. 

“Stay still,” Gerard says, but he’s running his fingers up the length of Frank’s cock and letting them catch on the head, and it’s all Frank can do to force himself to stay still. The whimpering he can’t do anything about. 

Ray runs his thumb over Frank’s lips. “Noisy.”

“Keep him quiet then,” Gerard says, and Frank doesn't get the chance to process what that might even mean before Ray leans in and kisses him. 

Frank makes a wordless noise of shock, but Ray swallows it from his lips, along with all the other noises that Frank makes as Gerard tightens his hold on Frank’s cock and starts stroking. 

“God,” Gerard mutters, and Frank can’t tell if he means to say this out loud, doesn’t care. “You two… So fucking beautiful.”

He sounds hushed – reverent even – but he speeds up his strokes and Frank will take that for now. 

It’s weird though, not being able to move into the thrusts. Ray and Gerard have him pinned pretty well in place with their hands and mouths and bodies and all Frank can do is lie there and take what they choose to give him.

He’s lightheaded, dizzy with desire and the way Ray is stealing the breath from his lungs. _Please_ he would beg if he could, but he can’t. For once in his life he’s utterly powerless, and that in itself is turning him on as much as anything else. 

He doesn’t last long – he _can’t_ – and Ray kissing those noises away along with the rest and doesn’t seem to care that Frank’s just come on his stomach. 

Neither of them let go of the hold they have on him, though Gerard pulls his hand off Frank’s cock. Frank blames being orgasm drunk and kiss-stupid for not realising why, until he feels the rhythmic movement of Gerard’s arm and the slick-sticky smear of Gerard’s cock head against the small of his back. 

“What…” he starts, reluctantly turning his face away from Ray’s and Gerard bites at the top of his shoulder, hot and wet. 

“Please,” he pants in Frank’s ear. “Just let me…”

His hand is flying now, and Frank realises with a shock that he’s using Frank’s come as lube. It’s that that makes him struggle against their grip, trying to turn to see, but they don’t let up – won’t – and Frank is pinned in place and made to listen as Gerard pants and groans and comes, sticky and hot over the top of Frank’s ass. 

He collapses against Frank, kissing his neck and wrapping him up tight without caring how sweaty and sticky he is. 

“I’ll help you in the shower after,” he promises, but Frank snorts, knowing better than to believe lies like that from a Way. 

“You two,” Ray says, and his voice is husky and stupidly fond. 

“You like what you see?” Gerard asks, and even though he’s just come, Frank can hear the edge of desire in his voice that comes from being watched. “Gonna do something about it?” 

Ray bites his lip and reaches down, taking himself in hand. He gets off fast and efficient, and it’s almost like they’re getting to watch how he is by himself. His head is thrown back, his eyes are scrunched closed, but he peeks at them occasionally, like there’s a rule against watching them openly but he can’t keep himself from doing it. 

“Beautiful,” Frank says, taking in the flush of Ray’s skin, the way he runs his tongue over his perfect lips. 

“Yeah,” Gerard says, hushed. He presses as close as he can to Frank, resting their heads together as they watch, and Frank only realises later they match their breath, to each other, to Ray, so that they’re almost panting in unison by the time Ray comes. 

Frank’s not gonna lie; he kinda dozes off after that and by the time he wakes up he’s basically stuck to Ray, trapped by dried come and his own stiff muscles. 

Ray doesn’t seem to care. He’s asleep himself, despite Frank resting almost wholly on him and the fact he’s drooled as he slept. 

They’re alone in the bed, but there’s the smell of coffee from behind him, so Frank knows Gerard hasn’t gone far. 

He needs a shower, and a mug of that coffee for himself. Bus call’s gonna be too soon, he knows _that_ for sure. But for now, he lets himself relax and underneath the residual pain and busy-ness of his mind, he’s happy.


End file.
